


Running Backwards

by jacksgreysays (jacksgreyson), jacksgreyson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreysays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreyson
Summary: There are no options, train on the track, future written down and read in the past. And yet, here I am, poised to defy the fate put on him.If anyone is the spare, it’s me.(A Hufflepuff SI!OC story. Originally posted on tumblr)





	1. Prologue

I’ll admit, dying as a twenty-four year old in 2015 then waking up as a newborn baby in the year 1978 was rather shocking. On the one hand, I’m Buddhist, so I feel vindicated knowing that samsara is real and my karma was good enough not to have been reborn as a bug and immediately squashed. Or, at least I was raised Buddhist in my first life, which is chronologically after my second life… Which leads to the other hand: I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to remember your past lives, much less that technically your past life is in the future.

So, no, I suppose the actual reincarnation wasn’t surprising to me; I was just getting caught on those fiddly little details for no reason. Or perhaps I just wanted to distract myself from my grief. Because even though I’m the one who died, I still lost my life–my family, my friends, my history, my identity–I have a valid reason to mourn.

It only took me a little while to get over it–give or take a few years. My new parents always seemed thankful that I was a quiet, solemn toddler. It was a little worrying to them, true, but better than having a shrieking, ill-mannered child like most other parents. But, eventually, I moved on. This life isn’t so bad. And in all honesty, it was pretty fun to be a kid again.

It’s pretty much the same as last time–I guess I wasn’t so good as to be reborn as royalty–if a decade or so earlier than my memories. Sure I kind of missed Pokemon and some of the cartoons from the 90s, but the 80s weren’t so different. Less reliant on video games and television, sure, but I had always been more of a reader than a gamer. Luckily, most of my favorite children’s books had been published before the 90s.

Well, my absolute favorite children’s books wouldn’t be published until the late 90s, but I had other activities to keep me occupied. It was enough that I still held the series dear in my memories; and I suppose I could be patient enough to wait until 1997 for the first book. But perhaps I spoke too soon.

In July of 1989, just a few months after my second eleventh birthday, my mum opened the door to an particularly interesting man bearing an even more particularly interesting letter. The man, shorter than my average eleven-year-old height, introduced himself as Filius Flitwick, Professor of Hogwarts. One of my future teachers. My parents took some convincing–by way of Professor Flitwick charming the coffee table to canter around the room, the tea set levitating around it in a whimsical orbit–but eventually they believed. I didn’t even need that much.

I suppose I wouldn’t have to wait so long for the Harry Potter series if I was already in it.


	2. Chapter One

Unsurprisingly, I was eager to go to Hogwarts–Magic! How could I not? It was only every child’s dream, ever!–but my parents, my mother in particular, were not impressed by my reasoning. Thankfully, they found Professor Flitwick’s arguments convincing enough, and it probably helped that I offered to continue my non-magical schooling via letters and during the summer. Elective home education would be easy enough: my father was a secondary school teacher and, given my memories, I had already established myself as a rather intelligent if indifferent student.

It wasn’t that I doubted Hogwarts, but I was hesitant to put all my eggs in one basket. Considering I was a muggleborn and how much prejudice I would be going up against, there was a possibility that my Hogwarts education would be the only time I’d experience the magical world. After I graduated, I might very well have to come back to the normal world. It was a sobering thought, and yet, motivating. If all I had was seven years of magic, then I was going to make the most of it. And, really? Seven years of magic was more than I had before.

Professor Flitwick’s visit had taken up a large part of the morning, so much so that my parents invited him to have lunch with us. But he reluctantly refused, and thanked them politely, because he still had two more letters to deliver. I tried not to let the disappointment show overly much in my expression, but I must not have done a very good job, because my parents and the professor chuckled.

“We’ll be seeing enough of each other at school,” Flitwick reassured, “Having lunch with a wizard now might seem interesting, but soon enough you’ll be one too.” And with that statement bolstering my mood, he left.

My enthusiasm to go to Hogwarts didn’t wane at all during the remaining months of summer, despite having to already live up to my promise by beginning my home education curriculum. My parents were both happy and relieved at this, I had never been one for passion and to them it might have seemed problematic that their child never got excited by anything. They were supportive. And if their preparations and advice were more fitting to give a young adult going to university, instead of a child going to boarding school, none of us remarked on it.

Soon enough it was September, and with the arrival of autumn came the highly anticipated Diagon Alley trip for school supplies. School supplies. Loving book was one thing, but school supplies? Magic was truly amazing, if it could get me so excited about that.

All the muggleborns of my year were instructed to meet outside the Leaky Cauldron with our parents–it was a little funny that all of adults were unable to see it, while all the kids could–until Professor McGonagall arrived to lead the group into the alley proper. There were maybe fifteen of us, and in the casual introductions and chatter I didn’t recognize anyone’s name. Which made sense, the series had been mostly from Harry’s point of view and he probably didn’t know all the names of the people in his year much less the class two years above him. Regardless of if they were named characters, they were still people, still children about to embark on a magical adventure–just like me. Solidarity was a big factor in making friends.

The day was hectic with McGonagall herding the dazzled students and parents throughout Diagon Alley for all of the required materials, so while I certainly became friendly with my future yearmates I wouldn’t say I befriended them. Some of the other children did just seem to click, but not all, so I didn’t feel too bad about it when my father and I got home. And I was still amazed from the experience of being in the magical world that I didn’t get caught up on such a small matter–I could make friends later, there would be time.


	3. Chapter Two

I was going to vomit. Okay, no. I wasn’t really going to. But it felt like it. Don’t get me wrong, I was still as happy as ever to be going to Hogwarts. But nerves twisted up inside me, a dark knot in my chest and a sharp tangle in my throat. Hogwarts was magic and magic was amazing; but magic was also dangerous. Magic meant logic didn’t work, meant horrors beyond the laws of physics. Magic meant my two decades of experience in another life wasn’t enough of a safety net, and the fall would be so much worse than not getting perfect marks on a primary school math exam.

But surely it meant something? Maybe… maybe the reason why I remembered my past life is because of magic. Maybe that was my accidental magic–because I don’t remember doing anything else fantastical, but I had been a pretty mellow child. And surely my karma was still decent enough, right?

Second-guessing would get me nowhere. And, at the very least, I had two years before things started getting weird. Moreover, Harry’s first three years had been dangerous for him but for everyone else it had been… well, not safe–considering the troll and the basilisk and the dementors–but survivable. And survivable was good enough for me. As long as I didn’t do anything over wrong, or interfere with canon, I would survive.

It’s these kinds of thoughts that make me nauseated.

My mum was the one to bring me to King’s Cross–it was only fair, since she couldn’t go to the Diagon Alley trip, and my father had to begin preparations for his actual students–and followed after me with a quiet, amused smile. Which quickly slid into shock as I forcefully shoved my luggage cart at what she thought was a normal stone pillar, only for it and me to disappear through to platform 9¾. She composed herself quickly enough, because in the half-minute it took her to join me she was back to her normal calm smile.

The Hogwarts Express really was beautiful–a gleaming red which brought to mind candy apples and Christmas, all childhood nostalgia and warm glows. Families were bustling around saying their goodbyes, some returning students meeting with their friends. There were so many people and so many voices and it was too much. Suddenly, I felt my physical age too keenly–I was an eleven year old leaving home for an extended period of time. My confidence faded and I turned to cling to my mum, face pressed into the soft cotton of her dress.

She threaded her fingers through my hair soothingly. Another woman nearby spotted us and cooed, “First year? Some of them get like that, it’s perfectly normal. Soon enough they’ll be dashing away as quick as they can. My eldest is in her third year already, she’s already gotten on the train. This here is Arthur, it’s his first year too.” The woman gestured to the boy next to her, dark skin lightly flushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t help but match it, since my clinginess was literal and, thus, worse.

“This is Rey. This shyness is a surprise to me, he was practically bouncing off the walls to get here,” My mum responded for me, and immediately my preemptive homesickness was cured. Arthur and I met each other’s eyes and in that moment, powered by shared mortification, we became friends without saying a word to each other.

“Okay, mum! Rey and I are going to go on the train now.” Arthur blurted, beginning to push his cart towards the boarding areas.

“Bye, mum,” I murmured with one last hug before trotting after Arthur, thankful for the escape. When I caught up to him, I couldn’t help but sheepishly introduce myself, “So… I’m Rey Chason. Rey is short for Reyniero. Uh. I was just a little overwhelmed, you know? I’m a muggleborn so it’s my first time seeing everything.”

Arthur snorted good-naturedly, “I’m Arthur Ellis. The platform stops being so exciting when you’re dragged along to drop off your sister. I guess it’s just weird to be boarding the train for once, instead of just watching it leave.”

We helped lift each others’ trunks onto the train, exchanging small talk all the while. He was a halfblood and wanted to know what it was like growing up in the muggle world, and vice versa for me. It was a little difficult since, without knowing what to ask, we were mostly exchanging random tidbits about our lives, but it was nice. Looking for a compartment wasn’t too difficult, though we did avoid the ones that already had groups of older students. We finally happened on one that only had two other kids who were either our age or not much older than us.

The boy was the one to offer us seats when we poked our heads in, even getting up to help us with our trunks, which was awfully nice of him. The girl asked us for our names, a little blunt but not unkind. We answered, repeating the usual light introductions to our fellow passengers.

“And you?” Arthur asked, in turn.

“We’re both first years, though we both grew up in the same village so we already know each other. I’m Stephanie Fawcett,” she said with a sharp grin and a toss of her hair.

The boy’s smile was much softer, but just as bright. With how friendly both of them were, it looked like this would be a pleasant, relaxing trip. That is, until he said, “I’m Cedric Diggory,”

Damn it. So much for not interfering.


	4. Chapter Three

I wouldn’t say we became as thick as thieves right then and there. For one thing, I was still myself–as prone to hesitation as ever–for another, I’ve always found that good friendships, the strong ones that can bear through anything, ought to be built with care and time. What I was feeling was the potential for life-long friendships: I could imagine myself spending the next seven years at Arthur’s side even when he waxed poetic about beetles. I could envision myself reluctantly and bemusedly allowing Stephanie to practice minor spells on me. I could so easily see myself disregarding canon and risking everything so that Cedric wouldn’t be just a killed spare.

I wasn’t at that point yet; but the Triwizard Tournament wouldn’t be until our sixth year. To put it bluntly, I didn’t care that much about him yet. And, to put it even more bluntly, he wasn’t real to me yet. It was easy to like Stephanie and Arthur because they were likable people, but in Cedric’s case… he was still partially a fictional character. Oh, the helpful boy with a soft smile and love for dogs and Quidditch was a person, but Cedric Diggory? Hufflepuff Hogwarts champion? First casualty in the second war against Voldemort? Those were just titles, just symbols, they weren’t tangible like an eleven year old child was. Time would help; maybe in time I would prioritize his life alongside mine, but not yet.

When it was time to change into our uniforms, the compartment across from us had mixed genders too, so Stephanie went across to change with the girls while the two second year boys temporarily joined us. Both of them were Ravenclaws, and had distractedly rambled about their hopes to get on the Quidditch team this year. Cedric, as personable as I’d come to expect, continued the conversation by peppering them with questions, while Arthur, uninterested, and I, inexperienced, just tried to tie our un-sorted black ties properly. When Stephanie came back, she rolled her eyes and fixed the mess we’d made of ourselves.

It was dark by the time the train began to decelerate to a stop. Everyone began disembarking, the return students headed in one direction while the first years followed the sound of what had to be Hagrid’s booming call. The four of us stuck together despite the crush of people, Arthur and Stephanie ahead of me and babbling about different Sorting rumors they’d heard from older relatives. I tried not to shake with nerves, but I probably failed, because Cedric bumped shoulders with me in a companionable gesture, smile comforting.

“I’m just… I mean, I didn’t even know magic was real three months ago and suddenly I’m going to Hogwarts, you know?” I tried to defend myself against a criticism that didn’t come.

Cedric just nodded, “I’ve grown up with magic my whole life so I’ve always known I’d go to Hogwarts one day. It must all be such a rush for you, it’s okay to be a little nervous. I’m a little nervous, too.”

He was just a child. I was the one with an additional twenty odd years of life experience, I should be the one comforting him! But I couldn’t help the rush of sheepish gratitude and smiled back at him.

Obviously it would be us four in one boat. We kept up a steady, distracting conversation after spotting Arthur’s anxious grip on his seat, so it wasn’t until we saw his face open with awe that three of us looked up to see the Hogwarts castle. It was beautiful.

It was also… formidable. This was a structure that not only stood the test of magic, but of time. It was a building that had outlasted it’s founders, that could very well outlast every single one of it’s occupants. While the Hogwarts Express had been like something out of a child’s daydream, the castle was unmistakable as a cumulation of the ambition, ingenuity, and hard work of fully grown wizards and witches.

All of our faces were turned upwards as we approached the doors, trying to soak in the sight of our new home. Professor McGonagall waited for us, acknowledging Hagrid briefly before ushering us all inside.


	5. Chapter Four

Hogwarts castle is like a geode–the outside is tough, but inside is all vivid colors and mesmerizing shapes. Oh, sure, the stonework outside was the same, but inside is where Hogwarts truly came to life. We could see the staircases moving above us, portraits peeking in curiosity at our little herd. And the ceiling of the Great Hall was literally marvelous.

In a way, being an unsorted Hogwarts student would be the last time all of us were equals. Blood purity, magical versus not childhoods, fore-knowledge of spells–none of that mattered when all of us were gaping at Hogwarts in amazement. Even having watched the movies, I was as unprepared as the next child–who in this case was Cedric, a pureblood–and the one after that, who really was a normal muggleborn.

But soon enough, I felt the eyes of the crowd on us. And while I was one amongst many I couldn’t help but hunch my shoulders and duck close to Cedric who had an unenviable four inches of height on me. I knew it was mostly benign attention and nothing personal, probably wondering how many first years would be sorted into their respective houses, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I stood out I would be hunted.

Which is unfortunate, considering the method of Sorting literally has one called out by name and seated at the front of the hall. So while my fellow first years murmured in shock about the sentience of the Sorting Hat, my head was on a swivel–scanning the rest of the hall and all the very many people in it.

My surname started with C, which meant, probably, I would get it over with early without having to be the dreaded first position. Fortunately there was an “Avery, Cornelius” and a “Burke, Octavia,” ahead of me–the former sorted into Ravenclaw, the latter into Slytherin.

“Chason, Reyniero,” Professor McGonagall called, and I tried not to wince when all eyes turned to me, as predicted. I also tried not to trip as I walked to the stool, but I suppose I can be glad that I managed to catch myself before I fell. I sat, trying to keep my gaze on my new friends instead of staring fearfully at everyone else in the room. Thankfully, the Sorting Hat was placed on my head, the width easily causing it to fall down to my eye level.

My mind was open.

_**Not that much. You’re surprisingly steady beneath the nerves. Unusual for a child… then again you don’t truly consider yourself as one. Do you?** _

I didn’t want to respond.

_**Come now, this is one of the most interesting minds I’ve seen in centuries.** _

So I didn’t.

_**You wouldn’t deprive an old hat of a little entertainment. The headmaster’s office gets so boring, and Fawkes is a terrible conversationalist.** _

Really?

_**Yes. Though according to your memories, none of this is real.** _

Was he having an existential crisis during my sorting?

_**I’m a talking hat, I have other reasons to have existential crises over.** _

I waited for the hat to get back on topic.

_**Yes, very well. Muggleborn, oughtn’t put you in Slytherin then, not that you have any cunning or ambition to speak of.** _

I had kept my past life secret so far, lies of omission counted, right?

_**Hardly the tools of a master manipulator. And to what end? Not that you want to be in Slytherin.** _

Of course not.

_**Nor Gryffindor.** _

That would have been terrible.

_**A mind in that noggin of yours, doubly so with that condition. Your head start would help you fit in with Ravenclaw quite nicely.** _

Were those puns?

_**Ah, but I see the truth. You want to be in–** _

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

I guess it seemed like an obvious choice, even if it was one I had made subliminally. Talking to the hat, it didn’t feel like my Sorting had taken that long at all. But when it was pulled off my head, I could see everyone looking mildly to majorly irritated. There was clapping, of course, but as I took my seat at the Hufflepuff table I could hear some older Gryffindors behind me grumbling. Merlin’s balls, a Hatstall that long just for a ‘Puff?

Immediately after me was Cedric who was also sorted into Hufflepuff. I was relieved to find I hadn’t done anything to irrevocably change canon in less than a day. And, funnily enough, following him was Arthur who had also been declared Hufflepuff. As they sat down next to me we grinned and nudged at each other playfully.

Stephanie, after Arthur, I wasn’t surprised to see get sorted into Ravenclaw, though I was a little disappointed. We could still be friends, of course, and judging by her teasing pout she would make it so.

The sorting went on, but I didn’t really care all that much. I recognized some of the Gryffindors–the ones that Harry had bothered to notice–like Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, and the Weasley twins. And the name Adrian Pucey–Slytherin–sounded vaguely familiar. But I was mostly just whiling away my time until finally the last of us, “Yaxley, Mitchell,” had been sorted.

Then, once the tired, impatient applause petered out, Dumbledore stood up.


	6. Chapter Five

Dumbledore’s speech was as nonsensical and boring as it had been in canon. There hadn’t even been a forbidden third floor mentioned to spice things up. So it was unsurprising that eventually all of the Hufflepuffs around us just tuned him out and waited patiently for the food to appear.

I don’t know what the usual size of the student body is meant to be–Harry’s dorm room had five boys, but as far as I can remember Hermione’s only had three girls. On top of that, were certain houses more populated than others? Were certain years? Regardless, including Arthur, Cedric, and myself,  there were a total of four boys. The other boy that would be our roommate for the next seven years was Farold Stebbins. Except for grimacing when we misunderstood and called him Harold, he was congenial enough. A decent bloke to have as a roommate, but I wasn’t getting the same vibes of potential friendship as I had before with Arthur, Cedric, or Stephanie.

There were five Hufflepuff first year girls, though I only caught two of their names–Margaret Presley, who preferred to go by Maggie, and Heather Jarvis, who seemed to be rather timid when introducing herself then boisterous when talking about Charms.

I knew the wizarding world was larger than what Harry had been exposed to in the books, but I had still assumed that it was a fairly small society. Purebloods knowing each other as children, even half-bloods having recognizable surnames and relations to pureblood families; but this was not the case. I was the only muggleborn in my immediate vicinity–sitting between Arthur and Cedric, across from Maggie, Heather, and Farold–and yet it was the first time anyone met each other.

I suppose this wasn’t something that could be chalked up to Harry’s obliviousness or House-blindness so much as his social circle. Despite the conflicts inherent in their ideology, Harry only interacted with the upper echelons of wizarding society. And I don’t just mean Draco Malfoy or Neville Longbottom or Sirius Black. Despite their financial struggles, the Weasleys were well known and well connected, Shacklebolt was head of the aurors and poised to become the new Minister, Dumbledore’s active, personal interest in Harry gave him an enviable social capital which was superfluous considering his celebrity status. He was networking with highly important people without even knowing it, without even trying–no wonder Slughorn wanted him in the Slug Club.

But I digress. There was more to the wizarding world than what Harry had seen, and it was what I would be part of for the next seven years. The background extras, the silent majority, the sheep. Except for Cedric, who was only important as a teenage martyr, no one in my immediate vicinity would ever be on Harry Potter’s radar. For all I know, _I’m_ canon.

It was a disturbing thought which made me lose my appetite, conveniently after I had finished my meal but sadly before I could partake in the custard in front of me.

“No pudding, Rey?” Arthur asked, reaching over to swipe one of the raspberry tarts before Heather, who had already eaten three, could finish them off. Not that that was a problem, considering the House Elves in the kitchens could easily make more.

“No pudding,” I echoed, swirling my spoon through the dregs of sauce that remained on my plate.

“Not hungry?” This time Cedric asked, his own plate holding a slice of chocolate cake.

“Not hungry,” I echoed, again, before realizing how poor of a conversationalist I was being, “I guess I just ate fast. I’m pretty full already. Kind of sleepy…” I trailed off, wincing. That wasn’t a sterling example of conversation either.

But Maggie picked up my tenuous thread, “Oh, me, too. Today was very exciting but very tiring.” A yawn broke across her face, and she abandoned her fork to prop her elbow on the table and lean her face into her hand.

Like a wave, Heather yawned, then Farold, and on both sides of me I heard my friends yawn. Overwhelmed, I did so too. We blinked sleepily at each other before giggling.

“Looks like it’s bed time for the firsties!” One of the older students called out, not unkindly. Whether it was a signal or not, soon enough we were dismissed from the Great Hall. Following after the Hufflepuff prefects, we made our way to the Hufflepuff dorms–my home for the next seven years of my life.


	7. Chapter Six

The Hufflepuff dorms are the only ones that have an active defense. Slytherins prefer absolute stealth–their entrance is a blank stone wall indistinguishable from the rest of the castle–and the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dorms have semi-sentient guardians in the form of a portrait and an enchanted door-knocker. But the Hufflepuff entrance? It will drench any would-be invaders with vinegar should they make any wrong move. One of the prefects, Danica Delano, cheerfully informs us that it used to be bubotuber pus up until 1837, when the Board of Governors had the Head of House change it to something less… drastic.

“That was the year when all the other Houses made it a challenge to get into our common room–the number of visits to the infirmary was ridiculous. Even to this day, only Hufflepuffs have ever been inside,” Danica continued, as she led the group to a room next to the kitchen stuffed full of barrels. The nine of us first years looked around in puzzlement but remained silent–Danica was an engaging speaker, and generous with her Hufflepuff knowledge, she’d tell us soon enough.

“Inside first, it’s more secure,” She whispered conspiratorially, knuckles rapping against one of the barrels until it revealed a tunnel. It was dimly lit, but not so dark that I couldn’t still spot the prefect’s magically colored purple hair.

The tunnel opened up into the common room and I could only describe it as, “It’s like a hobbit hole,” I read a lot, both in this life and my previous one, and certain books in both. The magical raised children that had heard me looked confused, but one of the other Hufflepuff girls, one I vaguely recognized from the Diagon Alley trip, grinned at me in agreement.

It really was like a hobbit hole–or at least what I imagined one looked like, and what images of the Lord of the Rings films I could fathom from the depths of my mind. The common room was all curved frames and comfortable fabrics and warm colors. The furniture was pressed along the walls leaving, the center of the room was raised slightly like a low stage, empty and available. It was open, but somehow cozy.

“All of what I told you outside is true, but it’s knowledge easily available in Hogwarts: A History. What is only known to Hufflepuffs–and can only be known to Hufflepuffs–is that we have another layer of defense. One little bit of history that people like to brush over is that our founder, Helga Hufflepuff, made Hogwarts available as a refuge for House Elves. Those who were abused could come and work here without fear of injury. Most of the House Elves work in the kitchens, though some of them do work in other parts of the castle. We passed the kitchen on our way here. Does anyone know where I’m leading with this?” Danica had a passion for history, at least history relating to Hufflepuff, and would undoubtedly be a better teacher than Binns.

“The House Elves protect the Hufflepuff dorms,” Farold concluded, rightly so as our prefect guide nodded.

“Yes, exactly! Those other barrels? Well, some of them do contain projectile vinegar, but others are actually where some of the House Elves sleep,”

“You make them sleep in barrels?” My fellow muggleborn interjected, brow furrowed in displeasure. I couldn’t say I didn’t feel the same.

“Ah, muggleborn. Tara Kahn, right?”

“Yes,” Tara bit out through grit teeth.

“My friend had a similar reaction. I’ll tell you what we were told by our prefect: House Elves are different from humans. Wizards and witches? Our magic is within us. But House Elves draw power from a building–a house, a castle–any structure whose foundation is magic. If anything, the Hogwarts elves are much stronger than any elves serving in some family’s ancient and noble manor…” The nine of us were riveted, even Tara who still had a frown on her face.

“… But it’s the serving part that gets to you, the sleeping in barrels. House Elves are more like poltergeists than you’d think–not physically–but while poltergeist magic manifests itself as mischief and mayhem, House Elf magic is for improving and preserving their House and its inhabitants. As for sleeping in barrels, well… technically House Elves don’t need to sleep. They can sustain themselves indefinitely on magic alone. Hogwarts elves have mandatory break times–because if Helga Hufflepuff hadn’t specified that, then they wouldn’t take any. As for the barrels? Well, they are fairly large and they’re cushioned inside. Considering most House Elves are at most three feet tall, it’s about as comfortable for them as your beds will be for you,” At the mention of beds, most of us remembered how weary we were; some even yawned.

“I still don’t like it,” Tara grumbled around her yawn.

“That’s okay. I have some issues with it too, but House Elves… sometimes change has to come from within. We can’t force liberty on them, because that would be worse than letting them do what they want. And according to Mimsy, a lot of them feel honored that their sleeping quarters are so close to our entrance–that they can help protect us at all times. Now then–”

“Oh, Danica… why are the first years not in bed yet?” Professor Sprout, who had been pointed out to us at the staff table, lightly chided from behind us. “Were you lecturing them on history?” She asked, amused.

Danica blushed, unable to deny it.

“Your passion is admirable, but you’re prefect for a reason. I’ll let you do your duties. Remember, tomorrow morning we have a House meeting,” With that, Professor Sprout made her way towards one of the many tunnel offshoots of the common room, presumably to her own quarters.

“Right then. For you first years, your rooms are down the tunnels furthest from the entrance; the left are the boys’ dorms, the right are the girls’,” She gestured appropriately while she spoke, “While you can go into other tunnels, you won’t be able to get into the rooms unless you are an inhabitant. Bedrooms should be safe spaces and it’s not fair to have others barge in whenever they want–it doesn’t matter what gender. The only exceptions to this are Professor Sprout, and the seventh year prefects. For the boys that’s Leonard Montgomery, and for the girls it’ll be me. As Professor Sprout said, there’ll be a House meeting tomorrow morning eight o’ clock. A prefect will knock on your door at half seven, but it’s your responsibility to get yourselves ready. Your luggage should be in your room–feel free to switch beds around, if you don’t like the one your trunk is in front of. Now off with you, just looking at all of your sleepy faces makes me feel sleepy,” She shooed us away and we trudged into our respective tunnels.


	8. Chapter Seven

I woke up with a jerk, and almost startled sideways off of my bed. The room was still unfamiliar and thus disorienting in the dark.  
Despite being underground, the Hufflepuff dorm ceilings were supposed to be lit following the school’s circadian pattern. Meaning that there was no reason for me to be awake.

I wasn’t one to awaken easily in the night, despite being in a new location, and so I sat up to search for the reason.

Our room was fairly large, understandable since it did have to house four adolescent boys and their inevitable mess, but still small enough to feel cozy. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I spotted Farold and Arthur’s prone bodies across the room. Besides Farold’s mild whistling snore, which I had accustomed myself to early on in the night, neither of them were the cause of my conscious state.

In the bed beside mine, a blanket cocoon curled further in on itself, and a muffled cry made its way over to my ears.

Ah. Cedric.

I dithered, unsure whether or not I should go over or leave him alone. I didn’t want to embarrass him by causing a fuss, especially since we didn’t know each other all that well, but he was my friend and I remembered being eleven and being homesick. Even if I had the maturity of a previous life, the first time around I didn’t, and I remembered my own bouts of loneliness. By day, they had seemed silly, but the nights made it hurt more.

Another muffled cry made the decision for me.

I padded over on silent feet to Cedric’s bed and laid a hand on his shoulder, “Cedric?” I murmured.

His shaking form stiffened, even though he shouldn’t have been able to feel my touch through the blanket cocoon. The tawny brown of his hair popped out and his face freed itself soon after, “Sorry, sorry,” he half-sobbed, pressing his damp face into the pillow, still trying to stop the flow of his tears, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay, Cedric,” I assured him and sat down in the empty space left by the curve of his body. Petting his hair would be far too forward, even if it did look remarkably fluffy, so I kept my hand on his shoulder in a hopefully soothing manner, “It’s okay,” I repeated inanely.

“I don’t know why–this is stupid–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t,” he stammered, but his breathing calmed and his tears stopped and he didn’t make any moves to push me away, so I assumed I was doing something correct.

I hesitated to speak, the only thing on my tongue was yet another rendition of ‘it’s okay’–which was practically useless. “It’s okay to miss your parents,” I said, which was at least more substantial than before, “But you don’t have to feel alone,” which was much better.

“I’m here for you and so are Arthur and Farold and Stephanie. And the rest of the Hufflepuffs will be, too,” I continued, voice becoming less certain, before I gathered myself to reaffirm, “You can cry, there’s nothing wrong with that. And if you need me, I’ll be here.”

I gave a wobbly, helpless smile, which Cedric returned.

Several hours later, in the morning proper, Arthur woke up to find the two of us in symmetric blanket cocoons on Cedric’s bed.


End file.
